3x02 Margaretology

[7.5/10] There is a grand, tragic irony to the sisterhood of The Crown. Elizabeth is born first, destined for a job she feels unsuited for and doesn’t want. Margaret is born second, born tantalizingly close to a role she thinks she could truly shine in, and will always be denied. It is an arrangement neither of them is happy with. And worse of all, apart from the individual unhappiness it spurs, it also puts a strain on their relationship as sisters.

True to its name, “Margaretology” is Princess Margaret's time to shine when quasi-assuming the role she’s always thought was a better fit for her anyway. The stakes are set -- the U.K. is deeply in debt and badly needs a bailout from the United States lest its coffers and clout suffer mightily. The problem is clear -- Lyndon Johnson rebuffs the Queen’s fancy overture meant to smooth things over. The solution is risky and volatile -- send Margaret in her sister’s place to woo and charm the President into submission.

But, of course, it works. There's a clever, if bluntly-conveyed, concordance between LBJ and Margaret. Very obviously, they’re both a bit rough around the edges, prone to untoward comments and stumbling over decorum because their natural personalities don’t fit neatly into the pristine boxes of upper crust diplomacy. Watching the pair make off-color remarks, get into drinking contests, share dirty limericks, and sing thematically appropriate showtunes together is a total hoot.

More than that, though, the pair bond over the fact that they are second fiddles who not-so-quietly resent the first chair. For LBJ, that's Kennedy, a now deified predecessor whom he’s still prickly about when it comes to stepping out of JFK’s shadow. For Margaret, of course, it’s the Queen, with a similar sense of umbrage at the idea that Elizabeth gets the spotlight when it’s the Princess who has the interest and aptitude to be the true star. That the unlikely dining duo bond over this is clever, and massages the facts to craft a plausible scenario wherein, true to the Queen Mother’s regular refrain, Margaret has a legitimate chance to shine.

Here’s my beef with it -- I feel that The Crown has gradually become a less and less subtle show as it’s gone on. Margaret herself outlines all of this in dialogue. Philip and Elizabeth’s conversation after the fact is practically an essay on the topic. And if you didn’t get it through all that, Tommy Lascelles’ (!!!) monologue at the end puts a fine point on it. The ideas here remain potent; the narrative setups remain strong, and while the new actors are still an adjustment, the performances remain good. But I can’t shake the sense that the series is dumbing itself down for us, and it’s the last thing I want.

Because the debate between Philip and Elizabeth is interesting! Elizabeth recognizes that the random chance of the order of their births has made things hard on Margaret, so she seriously considers splitting more royal duties with her sister, for Margaret’s sake and for the sake of their relationship. We’ve seen the Queen’s empathy for her sister cut through their difficulties multiple times in the past.

But Philip, ever the asshole who makes valid points, rightfully notes that this was the perfect storm for Margaret’s diplomatic success, and that she’d be too chaotic to do the job on a normal basis. His Lascelles-transposed theory about the Windsor line having one dull-but-dutiful sibling and one dazzling-but-dangerous one is probably overly reductive, but is another instance of the dark shadow the abdicated King Edward still casts over this institution, with the fears it brings.

However much Elizabeth may sympathize with her sister, and maybe even yearn to switch places with her, she’s inevitably compelled by a sense of duty to something greater than her, that persuades her to give up what she wants in favor of what’s good for The Crown.

Of course, there's a little jealousy involved. Margaret is in hog heaven getting to be the center of attention in America. Across the pond, she’s the one with the adoring fans, the fawning media coverage, and most importantly, the public declaration that she’s the one with the flair and panache to be the monarch, not her stately sister. Depicting how Elizabeth keeps a stiff upper lip, but softly bristles at Margaret wooing the American public and soaring in some high-stakes (if high-proof) diplomacy, rather than falling on her face.

In her own mind, Margaret is the overlooked superstar, finally given the chance to show that she’s deserving of a bigger seat at the table, resentful over her untapped potential. In her own mind, Elizabeth is the good kid doing what’s asked of her even if she’d rather embrace Margaret’s comparative freedom, and it’s low-key maddening to watch the bad kid act up and be rewarded for it.

The catch is that we’ve more or less seen this before. We’ve seen Margaret light up a room of foreign dignitaries in her sister’s absence. We’ve seen Elizabeth quietly balk at the fact that her coming out party on the Commonwealth Tour is overshadowed by her sister’s forbidden romance. We’ve seen their enviousness of one another’s lives. We’ve seen Elizabeth want to support her sister but give into the entropy of The Crown and step over Margaret’s happiness and fulfillment. We don’t really do or learn anything new here.

But as the episode wore on, I realized that was a feature, not a bug. Beyond the fact that we have new performers to channel the themes through, there is truth in the fact that Elizabeth and Margaret are still grappling with the same basic issue year after year, decade after decade. I think that's the point of the flashback to their time as little girls. This is the sort of problem that never goes away, but can’t ever truly be solved, because nothing can really be changed.

So it is their fate. Each is destined to want what the other has. Margaret is destined to crave the spotlight. Elizabeth is destined to want to fulfill her sister’s needs. The order of their births and the differences in their temperament mean that the essential issue is destined to be unfixable. Time after time, the Queen is destined to choose the needs of The Crown over the needs of her sister. And the Princess is destined to have her hopes raised by glorious triumph and then dashed once more by cold reality.

That is the hardest part of the episode’s final montage. A little girl stares mournfully at her reflection. A grown woman looks at the same mirror with an air of resignation. The outcome is the same. All that changes is the crushing of hope, a bastion of sisterly empathy and wishful thinking, ground down under the steady erosion of an inflexible institution meant to preserve constancy, not individuality. And that may be the most tragic part of all.